Sins of the Father
by Reddo Meijisu
Summary: FFIV: When the lines between respect and respite are drastically fractured, the first choice of salvation might not always be the responsible one. In Tellah's heart, vanity and dignity dance along those crevices. Pregame. Chapter 4 up.
1. Prologue: In Night, Residing

_Author's Note: Not used to putting these at the beginning of works. Forgive me. I suppose you could call this story a 'prequel' to Cold Blooded Murderer. Such is used loosely because you really don't need to read the latter story in order to understand this one (though if you wanted to, you could). Please feel free to review on both. It'd be appreciated, but not necessary. ;-D _

Disclaimer: All FFIV characters are the property of Square-Enix.

Meijisu

* * *

**Sins of the Father**

**Prologue**: _In Night, Residing_

The form that slowly slinked out of the unlit room, down a flight of stairs, past a room full of people, and out into the night was barely noticed to others, let alone himself All he knew was that the height of night was now upon him, and while the drunken ones wasted away in the space behind him, he would go out to sanction the work he was given to do.

_I must remember that I am he now_, it thought, peering up into the spectra of the sky. _Not the traveler. Not the boy. Not myself. Just..._

He couldn't remember the last time he had gazed up into the sky, eyes enamored with the thousands of little white diamonds that stared back at him, twinkling in their own silent harmony that he had once claimed as 'calming.'

It did little to soothe him now.

Or maybe it was because he knew their verdict.

Or, perhaps, he just didn't want to care.

The wind felt vaguely familiar though, as summoned by his thoughts. It washed over him, invisible fingertips lightly brushing over the black cowl pulled roughly across his unshapely head, winding down to the mask slapped tight across his lips, then trailing down to fiddle with the cloak that had restrained him, marking his demeanor as someone who was all too comfortable with walking into nighttime's bane.

He reached out a gloved hand as he continued down the steps that lead him away from the light behind, stopped briefly against the wall of a building, as though to catch the reminiscence the cool night-tide had blown in. Like a butterfly to winter, it had dissipated in an instant, leading his mind back to the task at hand, and the dangers that were adding up.

Angered at the opening he might've left for one as furtive as himself, he readjusted his cloak, and fell back deeper into the shadows, fingertips grazing the wall behind him. Light was nowhere to be seen at the moment, save for the soft glow of the magically hued lampposts scattered here and there on the city's citizen-desolate streets. Some buildings in the distance, save for the one he had already evaded, retained solid blocks of light emanating from windows from personal quarters, but they were of little concern to him at the moment.

He, under the prename of 'Vagabond,' under the prename of 'Cassius,' to those who had inquired, had been within the city's boundaries since the start of the day. The streets hadn't posed much of a threat when he entered, a tired and weary traveler seeking a canteen of water and a comfortable bed. No one had suspected that he, then free of the garments of black he wore now in exchange for that of a peasant, already had a previous standing connection with the city itself. Little did they know as well that the weakened smile worn on a sun-bleached visage, behind unkempt black mustache and beard, could pull into one of murderous intent.

Vagabond wasn't out to get the municipal's inhabitants - he knew that any he might've encountered could possibly fell him with a flick of the wrist, and some soft chanting to complete it. There was no telling what the citizens of Mysidia, each and then some a skilled magician to their own rights, might do to him should they of figured out his true demeanor, and the reasoning for his coming.

But that's not going to happen, he reminded himself calmly, hand reaching down to the dagger stowed away at his side, his leg twisting to an angle to pinpoint the exact location of its twin hidden in his boot. He figured, though foolish, that he had an advantage at nighttime. Rumors went by way of mouth, and his gatherings, that the custodians patrolling the streets were of no magical descent. How easy would it be to fell them through explicit use of the shadows, should one of them just happen to get in his way, in more ways than two? The thought danced through his head wildly, temptation dancing in begging.

_Foolish. They only said to kill per rate nata, as dead bodies would become of an uproar_, Vagabond thought, reality returning to him in a snap, and dismissed the thought away.

Certain the danger of the guardians weren't in his immediate area, the cloaked one returned, grace dipping and rolling through the boundaries of the shadows like the ocean waves crashing against the sand. Focused now, he hadn't even noticed the beauty of Mysidia: the glow of the aforementioned street lamps, in combination with the sidereal enthrall of the sky, intermixed with the quiet streets. Many streams of water interlaced, branched throughout her boundaries, propelled by intricate waterfalls around the various walls that shielded the kingdom from ill met animated materials. Blessed by the Water Crystal, a denizen of the goddess of Earth herself, it was no wonder beauty had purposefully chosen this to grace with her jewels, crowned at Solar's peak, and Luna's rising.

He ignored all of it, his eyes only seeing one thing amid the beauty that protested and pouted: payment and compensation for the dark deeds that were ahead.

In no time flat, Vagabond was standing before the grand cathedral commonly spoken of as the 'House of Prayers.' Blocks of light weren't guarding the fortress, save for the soft hues of illumination that stood behind streaming shards of more waterfalls gracing the sanctuary's front. Such nearly threw him off, but he knew somehow, somewhere, this particular clandestine had been prearranged for him.

Or had it?

"You are late," came a low voice from the shadows. Vagabond quickly whipped around, fingers clutched tight around the handle of the dagger that had previously been holstered at his side.

It chuckled. "At ease, Montgomery. It is only I," the voice, male, resolved, it coming forth from the shadows to eventually take a shape.

Vagabond relaxed. Though the voice hadn't stepped close enough for him to make out a face, the outlining of the body retained the contact he had been waiting to see. "I thought I told you never to call me by that name under these pretenses," he replied, dryly, and then adding, twirling the dagger within his fingers, "Mother wouldn't like it if we were found out, would she.. _Norbert_?"

Shoulders drooped. "I suppose she wouldn't," he said with a sigh. It straightened up again, as though out of memory. "Have you brought what we asked?"

"I have," Vagabond replied, the dagger quickly exchanged for another material, this stored in a pocket. "Five cubic-centimeters. Opiates are very dangerous, especially to a young child," he muttered. His fingers were closed around a vial, which glinted inconspicuously, even against his black gloves, upon it being exposed to his contact.

"Yes, yes. Of course I do. You forget that I, too, have practiced apothecary," Norbert replied, almost in a grump, fingers inching out to retrieve the vial from the cloaked one.

The other man remained rooted, as though steel. "Payment?" he bade, fingers curling up and around the palm of his hand to enclose the vial once more. "Though we have provided the drug, and the agreement that you carry out this deed, our druggist requires her due fees," he explained, smirking to the feral snarl Norbert had produced. He was almost tempted to yank off the mask to show him. "We will not pay her out of your hatred."

"Cheap blackmailers," Norbert snarled again, "I was hoping we might avoid this." The outstretched hand was retracted, dug apparently to a pocket on his person. Some jingling, and Vagabond knew that he hadn't forgotten the previous agreement. Norbert would've been stupid not to.

"We thank you," Vagabond said after a moment, coin passed, and the vial given in compensation. "At long last will there be a gain for us both. But use it wisely," he then reiterated, watching the other man turn away from him. Seeing as he had his attention again, his hand rose up, this time tugging the mask off of his face. Even though what little light, a hardened expression had formed through his lips, mustache angular in threatening poses.

"Should anything backfire, know that my matron has given me full permission to kill you," Vagabond continued, his voice as cold and razor-sharp as the daggers he wielded. "We will not be made a fool of in your petty gain."

Norbert started, faltered, and determined to not pose fright. The name of Montgomery - famed as the Vagabond - seeped through various lips in those who played a different form of the Dark Arts. Though imbued himself with the power of a highly skilled magician, he was sure that the cold-blooded wanderer could do more in the time it'd take for him to conjure an injuring spell.

"We can take care of them ourselves, without your aid," Vagabond continued, drowning out the other man's argument. "You are, after all, just a ploy for us. Don't you forget that," he finished, and thus, had nothing more to say. He ruffled his cloak, straightened his mask back over his lips, and began his descent back into the outer darkness.

"Make sure the matron enjoys her payment," Norbert called after him, as high as his voice might dare. "We will not be needing her services again!"

The cloaked one stopped, determined to kill him then and there. The scuffling of booted limbs back into the adjacent shadows told him he would just be wasting his time.

* * *

Soon after, Vagabond was out of the city limits. Using the shadows, he had managed to escape the boundaries and the guardians without raising so much as a brow. His belongings had already been pre-packed in a bag on his shoulders, underneath his cloak, so that a fuss back to the inn wouldn't be necessary.

Now open in the natural night of the light, the mask off his lips once more, the cowl off to reveal an even messier nest of black hair, he walked along to the shores, where soon he knew a carrier would pick him up from the land, and take him to yet another destination; this time, he hoped, home.

He lowered himself to the sandy ground, one knee cocked to allow his arm to be set atop, and the other crossed underneath it, its accompanying arm poised, fingers scraping absentmindedly in the sand, sketching that of what was lost, and what was found.

Vagabond couldn't look up at the sky, and Montgomery was ashamed to. Though he knew they still went on twinkling, calling out to the moon to join them in their harmony, he knew that they would likely soon witness the horrible acts of what was to come.

But a thought that kept him between destiny's tears: Montgomery was Vagabond - cold, murderous - now, whether the judgmental night liked it, or not. Even if the part that wanted to be Montgomery once more - a carefree, innocent youth unmarred by the revenge his mother so desired - knew that a child as innocent as he had been would die this night. 


	2. Chapter I: Resolute Feelings

_Author's note: This chapter is dedicated to my father (and possibly all other fathers out there). Happy belated Father's day. ;)_

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**Chapter I**: Resolute Feelings

_Dearest Love, _

Even in five years' worth of your passing, I still write letters to you. Though you will never get them, I know that you have seen them anyways.

We celebrated our daughter's birthday the day before. I do not think I have ever seen so many children in my lifetime! The Elder, or Leto, as I will always call him, you know how I have addressing my brother, had many games and other mockeries set up for them that involved the raising of their voices, and many a ball of lightning and fire to be tossed around aimlessly. Thank the crystals we had the party located OUTSIDE. I think that the carpets and stones wouldn't have been able to take it!

Even as I write, I am still thinking about that moment when Madelia brought out that cake. It was such a pretty white, bejeweled with candles shaped like chocobos, and figurines of tiny mages cloaked in red.. The moment that little Anna's face lit up, bathed in that light, I could of sworn I saw you standing next to her, Sakura, cheering her on, smiling at her in the same warm glow as you did... Before you...

If you did, I would have been fooled. In agreement, others have said Anna is a perfect copy of you, with only minor differences. She has your shade of strawberry-blonde, and the same shape of eyes as you, the color being blue in place to your emerald, of course. Though they additionally say that her face and mine match up, I cannot help but chuckle when I watch her get angered. The way she crosses her arms... How she scrunches up her face, and scowls... How she often bothers me until she gets that new doll from the toy maker... I daresay it reminds me of you!

Sin like, I think, I often wonder if Anna is you in disguise. There are many qualities I see in her that remind me of you. Personality might be a given. Her magic aptitude is that fashioned after myself, as is the rate she learns, but her proficiency with dancing clearly mirrors yours (no doubt that she will make a man happy someday with that. I still fear the day..). Even if it might be genetically imbued, it still leads me one step closer to wondering...

Wondering...

Fingers, skin on the start of wrinkling, slowly placed the yellow chocobo feather back in the bottle of ink, his eyes pouring over the intricate scratches of wording he had made on the parchment. To anyone else, it might've made sense to write to one's perished; such rituals were often included in the bereavement factor.

Tellah found himself mortified.

"Sakura has been dead for five years," he announced to himself, jumping to the sound of his voice. Fingers swooped down on the parchment, ripping it until it was no longer an identifiable source, save for a miniature hill on his desk. "She's not Anna, and she's never coming back. Idiot."

He turned, making no move to rise from the padded swivel chair, to look out the window. Sunlight, still bright in midmorning, was attempting to stream in through the white filmy curtains that adorned the office window. Lifting them back to allow the stream to pour on his face barely caught a smile on his face.

"Look at me," he muttered, blinking past the golden hue. "It's barely time for lunch, and I already want to go home. Though truthfully, I've been wanting to go home for the past five years, either to sleep, or to wonder if this is even home anymore."

Tellah adverted his gaze, blue eyes focusing on the ground below him. His office, a mere little hide-a-way spot as a professor of the Mysidian Academy, was on the eastern side of the House of Prayers. The morning light was a welcoming sight he had become adjusted to for over the last five years, even after the stormy nights of past.

It did, however, become quite a bother at times.

It didn't mean he wasn't grateful for the position, however. His brother, Leto, had graciously allowed him to keep his position as an Academy Red Mage professor after his wife's death. The unlimited support in raising Anna, who had been just two days' old when Sakura had passed on, had also come as a bonus.

In honesty, he knew the positions weren't just out of gratitude. Family was family, after all.

Rubbing a stinging eye, he watched the various activities below him. One half of the land plot had a group of students, each clad in different colored robes as pertained to their degree of magic, clustered around a mage dressed in gingham robes. It seemed she was talking animatedly, gesturing every so often to a couple of cages behind her. Another mage to her side stood with a ruby staff, his arms crossed, and slumped, giving the impression that he was bored to all hells.

"I don't see why you'd need that for a bunch of caged imps," the Red Mage sighed, shaking his head. "Or maybe it's for those little brats," he then reasoned, watching the assistant with the staff rush towards some of the students playing in a stream of water. They broke apart into different directions, each, apparently, laughing.

Shaking his head again, Tellah shifted gaze to the other side of the compound. Three well-muscled men (Monks, he remembered) were sitting on the mossy area in front of another group of students. By how silently, stone-like, all of them sat, he could've sworn they were asleep.

"Don't they get enough of that at home?" the mage grumbled. "I knew it was a waste of our funds to hire those Fabulians, especially seeing all they're doing is teaching the students how to be lazy!"

"Actually, they're meditating," offered a voice from the door. "It'll help them clear their minds when casting."

Tellah quickly snapped around. "What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded, glaring at the form by the door. He had recognized the voice as that of Leto's, the Elder of Mysidia, and headmaster of the Academy. The slender, black-robed, ginger-haired man, whom often smiled for no reason whatsoever, made his assumptions assured. "In fact, how long have you been here? Didn't Mother ever teach you how to knock?"

The Elder held up his hands in mock defense, a grin breaking out across the cheery face. He usually found a reason to smile these days, even if it made his cynical brother mad. "I didn't think you'd mind. You were the one who said to come in at any time, remember?" he reminded the glowering mage, who sighed in defeat.

"Have a seat then," Tellah offered, nearly knocking over the bottle of ink with a gesture to the two seats lined in front of his desk.

"What were you writing?" the Elder asked, casting a lingering eye over the apparent pile of trash on the Red Mage's desk before taking the aforementioned chair. "Another letter?"

"That's on a need-to-know basis," Tellah huffed, hastily turning around to muse with the curtains, embarrassed. "And you don't need-to-know, obviously, so quit grinning like a Cheshire larvae," he added, quickly glancing over his shoulder to the perplexed man behind him.

Indeed, Leto was grinning. He had adjusted comfortably, slouched in the seat, his slender fingers braided in front of him. Ever since his wife's death, it was all too often that the Mysidian Governor played the role of 'White Mage therapist' with his older brother, though he would vehemently deny at the first sign.

Something told Leto, however, that such efforts would likely be wasted this day.

"I know you didn't come here for tea and cookies; it's too early in the day," Tellah noted, turning back to the black-robed man in front of him. "What is it that you desire? I am busy with trying to plan out the next day's lesson for the Advanced Red Mage class, you know."

Leto calmly placed a hand over his mouth to cover his increasing grin. The tops of Tellah's cheekbones were brushed lightly with blush as though his fire-and-smoke hair had decided to pass its color onto the mage. What remained humorous was the telltale glint behind his glasses, swimming innocently in dark-blue eyes: the kind that said 'Mess with me today, and you'll end up like the pile on the desk.'

Many times Leto had seen that look, and while he knew he wasn't afraid to execute it, he knew that his own brother wouldn't do such.

Or... Would he?

"The council members and myself were talking more on the proposal of trade relations with nations other than Baron," he began, his hand slowly slinking back to run its fingertips absently, back and forth along his ginger beard. "Not only would we be answering the demands our people have, we would bring trust and valuable allies for Mysidia alone."

"I could have told you that," Tellah replied. He had slumped forward to his desk, his cheek resting lazily against his fist, but he knew that his brother knew he had his full attention.

"We have decided to use the Academy as trading grounds," Leto continued, ignoring the snide remark. "We take their items; their civilians, soldiers, and family are entitled to a college of divine arts, either within Mysidia, or their homelands."

"And our compensation?" the Red Mage asked, innocently. "You will have a lot of pissed-off professors should they learn they aren't being paid extra for an increase in students that seem to be coming here Fab-free," he reminded, watching the Elder's face mould into a glare.

Leto sighed; Tellah had him beat. "Of course there will be an increase," he muttered, though he knew that his voice didn't sound too sure from the start.

"We have our first delegates coming in about a fortnight's time," he continued, also ignoring the cynical look that had erupted on Tellah's face. "His royal highness, Gilbert von Muir, and Queen Melody will be arriving by aircraft. I believe the crown prince will be attending as well."

"_Damcyan?_" the Red Mage merely mouthed. He didn't know whether to laugh, or be offended. The small monarchy was infamous for its history of minstrels, and alchemists that could neutralize most poisons, while its predecessor village, Kaipo, was well known for the luxury drinks and sandmoth silks that could prove to have significant trade value.

But, still... _Damcyan_?

"Yes, _Damcyan_," the Elder nodded, pleased that his brother had caught on quickly. "That's the problem."

Tellah then assumed that it was all right to grin mockingly. "Yes, those stupid bards and their smelly peasants. I wouldn't touch those non-magi wimps with a ten foot..."

He trailed off as the Elder's face tightened into a full glare.

"_Exactly_ the problem, Tellah."

"If it hurts you _that_ much, Leto, I'll stay away from when your _'expedition'_ comes around," Tellah retorted, instantly sitting up.

Leto relaxed, visage transforming into a frown. "Actually, you're not the problem I worry about. It's someone rather close to you that has the same attitude, though worse."

"Sakura does _not_ have a problem!" he snapped, throwing his hand down on the desk. The odd look that had appeared on Leto's face made him wish he could retract his words.

"I'm talking about my niece, dear brother: Anna. Or have you forgotten that you _do_ have a daughter?" the governor whispered, low and near threatening, a storm settling in the room between them. Over the past weeks - no, make that the past few _years_ - it seemed as though Tellah was slipping further and further away from his responsibility, burying himself in whatever Red Mage work that had come up for him. Though he knew that Anna was well cared for, it angered Leto that Tellah could be so wrapped up in his own grief to the point of not caring.

The Red Mage's head shook, fingers gently yanking at his shoulder-length strands of hair. The once shocking mane of red was loosing its battle with pepper and salt. "What's wrong with Anna?" he dared to muster above a whisper. His gaze was focused on the lacquered dark mahogany of his desk, embarrassed once more.

"As far as I know, she's a healthy little mageling, that's too much like her father," Leto replied, pointedly. "Too much, I say."

"So you and everyone else in this Gaia-damnedcountry say," Tellah muttered. He could see his reflection in the shining mystique of the desk: a man with a shaggy beard, and a smile that seemed to sink lower than the sun. His crystal-hued spectacles were there, but the eyes behind them were hollowed out.

_It was black. Black was for sorrow._

"Most little girls her age are content to playing tea party with their stuffed monsters; Anna loves playing fire party with the trashcans," Leto sighed, the hand that had been trailing the beard now at his temple, as though recollecting the memory. "The only positive thing that she has done in mimicking you is going into the Academy as a Red Order initiate, which is quite an accomplishment for a five year old, I'll admit."

"Most little girls have a mother as well," the mage grumbled, finally gaining the courage to glance back up at his brother. "And don't you dare tell me that I should marry again. I don't think Anna would like a mother," he sighed, though silently adding: _Sakura would likely agree with you too, Leto._

The Mysidian Governor could feel his anger melting away at last, the storms simmering into aftermath. "At least you admit Anna has a problem with authority. Maybe now we can get something accomplished.

"As you know, Prince Edward is about three years Anna's senior," Leto continued when Tellah didn't interrupt. "With you knowing the lifestyle of the Damcyani, and the rambunctious attitude of your daughter, it is possible to say that he and Anna might clash. Then again, they may not. King Gilbert has passed on that the crown prince is often engaged in activities that see him alone. Anna does not seem to make friends that easily as well."

"We did have to invite those children ourselves," Tellah replied, running his hand within his beard. "Some parents we even had to pay for their child's time."

"If Anna would quit boasting about her father, maybe she would have more friends," the Elder replied, a small twinkle of knowing in his dark brown eyes. "Such admiration is fine, but she shouldn't exclude herself from activities that she doesn't deem worthy. Or have you been telling her that?"

"Of course not," Tellah replied, bristling. "If you want me to dress her up in her finest robes, comb her hair out, add a bow, and tell her to behave, or else, I'll do it. I know that's probably why you came in here anyways."

"Yes, brother," Leto said with a nod, slowly rising from his chair. "You should take some time off this week, and prepare as well. Go to Baron on the Child's morning; Smithton's, on the corner of the city's academy, is a fine place to trim your beard. I'll also alert Regina to make you some new robes - oh, for crystal's sake, Tellah; you've been wearing the same ones for the last five years! Don't give me that look."

"It all goes towards Anna, Leto," the Red Mage replied, also rising from his chair to see his brother to the door. "Every piece of gil goes into her tome-texts, her robes, and her well-being. I love her more than life itself."

_Even -if- she isn't Sakura's extension._

"See that you do," Leto said. "And do pay more attention to her. The day when she grows into a charming young woman well endowed with spells, and some dashing man sweeps her off her feet, and into the crystal-lands, will come soon if only too quick. But do so in moderation. Should her father die as well, I think it might be the end of it all."

As Tellah shut the door behind the Mysidian Governor, and leaned against its defense, he stopped to consider himself. It seemed not too long ago he was thirty-nine, and going through the best years of his life. The previous ones had seen him through with powerful spells, and a name that was whispered amongst villagers and soldiers alike - though still was. His robes, an intermix of gold, red, and ivory - the marking of an advanced Red Mage - hadn't been ripped at the seams, and fit to fall into pieces of thread.

Now he was about to be forty-five, and in the worst shape of his life. His sight was becoming worse by the days, and he had to constantly review his old texts to remember the plethora of incantations behind them. The sleeves of his robes had become too short, his forearms constantly exposed no matter how he tried to cover them. It was an embarrassing sight for any well-to-do Mysidian, though he found that his care for it seemed to of diminished.

It didn't seem right for a father - an old father, at that - of a five-year-old girl that was indeed growing up.

But Tellah didn't know if he could have it any other way.

He stared forward, eyes taking in the office. Compared to the claustrophobia he had previously endured, it now seemed like a huge task to fulfill. The back cream-colored wall was connected to two other walls of the same color that extended at an angle, all three with the same filmy curtain over certain windows. He barely felt the sandy carpet beneath his heavy boots, but he knew it was there.

The one ornament that kept the room alive wasn't the mellow, smiling picture of Sakura De'Terre hanging on the farthest wall, but the miniature one on the desk of Anna Mesiocite, grinning back at him in a red dress that she picked out herself.

And Tellah knew, as he knew in older days, that the little mirror of himself and Sakura would likely be the death of him.


	3. Chapter II: Gracious Elegy

**Chapter II**: _Gracious Elegy_

_Annalise; _

The moonlight scatters dust across the dusk:

And I watch, contented.

The stars sparkle mischievously, painting diamond on a bronze canvas:

But I wonder when the sun will rise.

The wind of the talismans, blue with euphoria, ruffles her father's hair,

In perfect tune, with the descant of the sea.

I see her eyes, a perfect cerulean: reflecting the goodness in her grace.

I see her smile, little sanguine: announcing serenity wherever she goes.

I see a powerful aura, white gold and onyx-black: putting the world at rest in years' time.

And as the orange rays tumble over the bleak horizon, I see an angel's heart:

Beating with all strength, beating with all might:

I know the elements will find it true...

For about the hundredth time in a row, the little mage had precariously opened the wrinkled pages of her intermediate spell-book just to ignore the instructor at the front of the room, and focus on the intricate scrawling that had been made on the worn parchment paper.

_That's Mother. She's writing about me, isn't she? She has to be..._

"Mesiocite! Pay attention!" barked a voice from the front, causing the girl to shut the book hurriedly. Giggling from the small group of students encompassed around her ensued. "Quiet down!" it went once more. A cautious glance upward revealed one, Professor Reinhardt of the intermediate Black magic class looking less than pleased with the uproar he had caused. His brows narrowed threateningly, making the features encompassed underneath his wide-brimmed hat frightening. Such a notion threw the students back into a state of silence, afraid even to breathe.

Anna, already silenced, remained unfazed, and simply stared back at him, her naiveté undoubtedly getting the best of her.

"That's better," the professor muttered, casting one dark look at the little girl, before turning back to the blackboard. It still angered him that Anna had found a place in a class consisting of students mostly in their early teenaged years ("Only because she's that windbag Tellah's daughter, I'm sure!"). He couldn't bring himself to admit, however, that she was indeed a prodigy in both the dark and light arts, and learned at a rate far beyond her years. Such a thing was not common in Mysidia, and it merely scared him to be associated with something unorthodox.

_Why_, though? All of his colleagues seemed enamored by the possibility of instructing a mage with gift far more than they might of had. It seemed as though the Mysidian Elder _knew_ his fear of those double entwined with the gift of red, and _purposefully_ gave him the child, rather than uphold the claim that she needed to be with students near her skill level.

For that, her eyes frightened him; and he was afraid to admit it.

"Now then," Reinhardt announced, picking up a piece of chalk, "for ten points added to their end of term, who can tell me the structure of the incantation commonly known as _Lightning Two_?"

Anna watched as various hands flew up into the air, their sleeves of blue falling down to their shoulders in a timed sense. She knew it wouldn't do any good to try and answer herself; for one, the rest of the students took up more mass than she did, and two, Reinhardt often seemed to ignore the fact that she was in his class.

_And why not_? She thought, fighting with her face to keep it from twisting into an ugly, near bitter, look. _They all wear blue robes, and I don't._

Her eyes fell to her lap, legs encased in a brilliant scarlet. The whole outfit was the same red hue, save for a double-braided gold cord tied around her waist. The red cap on her head, covering feathery strands of near carnation, topped with a yellow chocobo feather, was a huge contrast to the simple wide-brimmed gold hats that Reinhardt and the other intermediate black mages wore.

_I want to wear what they wear. No one else wears red, 'cept for Daddy... And no one else's Daddy is old, are they...?_

Gaze finally moved from lamenting, back to curiosity. The book on her desk seemed to have her paralyzed, as though the words themselves were calling out to her, begging to be seen once more.

Anna bit her lip, quickly glancing up at the black mage professor (who had now moved on to the basic origins of the Lightning spell), then back at the book. It wasn't that she felt anything owed to the burly mage, but rather, the twinge of guilt that suddenly ripped through her heart. Her father had seemed distracted the previous night, drowned in a pool similar to grief, making the chance to go through the old bookshelves opportune.

_But he never wants to talk about her_, she reminded herself. _He only talks about how being a Red Mage is going to be important to me... So this is okay._

Taking another look at the instructor (he now had the others engaged in challenging who was the first summoner to procure the lightning daemon, Indra), she timidly opened the book's cover as though fragile glass, and flipped the pages.

But the parchment wasn't there.

Anna gasped audibly, causing the rows in front of her to turn, and gape at her, but she didn't care. She turned the pages quickly, trying to find some sort of sign that the paper was still there, and not whisked away like the magical endowment that it seemed to be.

Books were thrown up, the bag next to her double-tousled in horrific attempts. _I didn't... It can't be..._

Indeed, it seemed gone.

"Do we have a problem, Mesiocite?"

The Red Mage could only guess that the looming shadow that had fallen across her desk was the instructor himself, but she still kept up her search. "My paper's gone," she replied, not bothering to look up, and bringing forth a hint of nervous laughter from the class. Either she was delusional, and didn't know she was speaking to the most-feared professor in the Academy, or perhaps she _really_ was asking for an early death.

Reinhardt took her words as a threat. The shadow stiffened, an arm shaking in restraint to grab the girl. "Do you know that's the _second_ time today you've disrupted my class, Mesiocite, and the _twentieth_ time this week?" he replied, coldly. "Not all of us have infamous fathers who dress like slobs."

This brought yet another bout of nervous laughter from the class, unsure of testing the familial water the instructor had waded in. Anna, however, jumped up to the challenge.

"You... You just say that 'cause you're... you're _jealous_!" the red-robed child snarled, grabbing her book as though she meant to hit the black mage. He, at best, stood three feet taller to her three-foot stature, and was undoubtedly wider that she couldn't get an arm across. That didn't mean cheating, and using the desk, though.

"Jealous of a slob, and disgrace to Mysidia? I don't think so, you little snottish brat. Sit down, and _shut up!_" Reinhardt yelled back, making a halfhearted grab for her, his other hand reaching out for a piece of gold his eyes had dropped on. He smirked when she dodged, and slunk back into her seat, her head bowed in remorse.

"I believe we had moved on to the discussion of the _Nuke_ incantation before we were rudely interrupted," he continued, shuffling back up to the front of the room, the class following his movements as though he were divine. Whatever he had grabbed was soon crunched in between his fingers, gold glinting before it was shoved into his pocket.

Anna, who had been warding off tears, had recognized it, surely. How it came to fall out of a solid book was beyond her, but she had her own hypothesis already in store. A fist brushed across her eyes before she quickly stood up again.

"Give that back, you big mean teacher."

The class flitted from the professor, to the Red Mage, afraid to even gasp. Yet another taboo had been broken, such punishable by death.

"_Nuke_ is, of course, an advanced spell you will learn in your later adolescence," the professor continued, gritting his teeth, his gaze locked with the child. A vein in his forehead seemed fit to burst. "If _some of you even get there_."

"I _SAID_ give it back!" the little mage growled, stamping a foot. "That's my mother's -"

"I _SEE_ we have our first volunteer to perform this incantation!" he howled, marching down the row of desks. "It's a _DANGEROUS_ spell, so maybe our little kindergarten cohort here will kindly blow up afterwards!"

After much struggling, Anna attempting to grab the parchment from the robes, Reinhardt slapping her hands as he pulled her along, they had resumed a post at the front of the room. Wide eyes shone underneath the sea of wide-brimmed hats, waiting on baited breath for the result.

"Give - It - _BACK! NOW!_" screeched Anna, fit to burst on more tears. She didn't care if her school demeanor had been lost, the promise she made her father broken, reducing her to how five-years-olds often acted in public, and at home.

Reinhardt was unfazed. "A love note, Mesiocite?" he asked, digging the parchment up from his robes. "Aren't we too young to be turning tawdry?"

Anna was shaking, tears flowing feely down her little face. Her hands clenched, and unclenched, digits itching. "I'm warning you, if you don't give it back now -"

"Might I read it?" he smirked, unfolding the paper. "You wouldn't want to disappoint your classmates, would you?"

"I'm WARNING you!"

Reinhardt's face twisted, emerald eyes poring over the paper. "_Poetry_? Honestly, who would write it to such a _little devil..._"

"_FIRE THREE!_"

The class couldn't have seen that coming. Anna had, indeed, become illuminated in a green aura - a symbol of casting dark magic - but never would have one thought it to be a power of third designation. Fire seemed to of erupted from the carpet, meeting up with the ceiling, a thousand fragments of flame pounding into the intended target.

Reinhardt still stood, even as the last bit of ash had dissipated. The parchment was gone forever.

"Shell charm," he replied to the gasps and murmurs that had broken out amongst the class. His hand dipped into the front of his robe to return with a circular jewel, coined, affixed to a chain. "Surely most of us have them in our possession, waiting for someone to threaten to kill an instructor.

"I think the punishable fine should be death," he continued softly, not breaking his gaze with the horrified one Anna had. "We'll let the headmaster execute that."

Silence had once again taken the class into its grasp. Reinhardt had moved to his desk, and was hurriedly scribbling something onto another parchment.

_I didn't try to kill him... He was the one who made me mad!_

Turning on her heel, Anna raced for the door, and kicked it open, not bothering to look back at the load of trouble she was already in as she raced down the halls at full speed.

Of course, there was only once place she could think of that convicted criminals could _possibly_ go...

...And _that_ was the girls' toilet, all the way upstairs and near heaven.

• • • 

"You know time is running out for you, Norbert. Matron Ama wanted this task done years ago the day before."

It was the voice that made Anna pause bashing the door in with her shoulder, but kept it to a comfortable crack. Shocked, she glanced up at the door that clearly marked the chamber as being _females only_.

Yet, if that were true, why was a male voice speaking from _inside_?

"I told you, Cassius, that I had second thoughts on killing the baby!" another snarled back. "I just wanted _Sakura_ -"

The girls' head tilted, curiosity piquing her interest. _Sakura_. The syllables sounded familiar, especially when they came from this new voice. Had she heard them say it before, or was it a simple recurrence of deja vu?

"...Got only a few weeks to get it done," the first voice continued. "Otherwise, you can kiss this precious school goodbye."

Intrigued, Anna pushed open the door even more, hoping to catch a glimpse of the two male intruders.

She never got the chance.

"Shouldn't you be in class, young lady?"

Anna quickly turned, jumped even, landing against the door, which swung open to a comfortable distance. The disapproving face of the Mysidian Elder shone down on her, arms crossed at his chest.

"Uncle _Toilet_! I... I mean! The... The toilet!" the red mage gasped, scared, but determined. "There are _boys_ in the _girls'_ toilet!"

"Nice try," the Elder commented dryly. "Professor Reinhardt told me a rather interesting story involving your pyromania antics, and I'd like to hear you say it isn't true, Anna."

The girl groaned. How he had known the act beforehand didn't grate her, but had she not of played the child who often cried 'red imp!' so many times, she was sure her father's brother would of had more faith in her. "I'm serious, Uncle Leto! _Look_!"

But there was nothing to be found. The stalls remained devoid of anyone at all.

"Yes, we should have this section of the bathroom cleaned more often," Leto added, sticking his head in for good measure. "Remind me to hire another janitor.

"Anna, I admit you're different from the other students," he continued, drawing a hand on the stunned mage's shoulder to lead her away down the hall. "No doubt you're just like your father - stubborn and wild."

"He got in trouble all the time, didn't he?"

"More times than you can imagine," the Elder replied. Had Anna looked up at him then, rather than counting the cracks in the stone walkway, she would've grown even more confused at the twisting look on his face.

"I want you to do something for me, Annalise," he suddenly said, stopping their descent. "Yes, no doubt your father hasn't told you that's your full name," he added, silencing the questions that were starting to pour out of Anna's mouth with a offhanded wave of his hand. "_Gracious beauty, just like the flower._

"Give this to your father for me, will you?" Leto continued, pulling a small rectangular package from his black robes. "I have to depart for Baron in awhile, and won't be back until tomorrow. I need to survey the subset of white mage classes we have, and see if we should add or take out instructors."

"I'll give this to him now, then!" Anna said, with a small smile, as she took the package into her arms, and eventually into her robe pocket. Relief seemed to make her forget why she had been running in the first place; the poem had been for her after-all.

"You will give it to him _after_ class," the Elder corrected gently, starting their walk again. "You know that setting an instructor on fire deserves punishment, even _if_ he has a charm to ward it off. Same with running away from him."

Anna's mouth dropped. Half a glimmer in her heart had hoped he would've dismissed the incident. "But he wouldn't give me back something of Daddy's!" she protested, stamping her foot in disbelief. "He... He... _Provoked_ me!"

"You really do need to work on your temper, just like your father," Leto replied, sighing. It seemed in no time they had reached the lower half, close to where Reinhardt's class was held. "I requested that you write lines rather than have the same spell extracted on you. It will take place after you have eaten your lunch. I think you can miss an art class while this goes on, hmm?"

"No on likes me in that class anyway," the little mage replied. "They're all a bunch of idiots!"

"Here you are, Professor Reinhardt's class," said the Elder, ignoring Anna's last remark, as they came to a halt in front of a door. "He'll escort you to lunch to make sure you don't run off again," he added, patting the girl's shoulder before he turned.

Anna's face pulled into a worried scrunch as she glanced up at the door, but relaxed when she felt the package in her pocket. "Hey, Uncle Leto?"

He stopped, and turned.

"Mother's name was _Sakura_, wasn't it? Hey, wait!"

But the portly governor had simply turned tail, and hurried off, leaving Anna in a state of fear, confusion, and partial happiness, all mixed into one five-year-old prodigy's interchanging whirlwind of life.

* * *

_A/N: Next up, more Tellah, less element distractions. Yay :) Thanks to all who read and (maybe?) review. It's very much appreciated._


	4. Chapter III: Rage, Hope, and Promises

**Chapter III**: _Rage, Hope, and Promises In-between_

The news that little Anna Mesiocite had openly threatened an instructor soon spread throughout the academy like the fiery rage of Ifrit. Before long, it wasn't common to see students huddled together in the halls during their passing periods, whispering hurriedly over the same tales and rumors acquired.

"I _heard_ she's a kappa!"

"Impossible! She performed the _third_ fire attack! Kappai hate fire."

"_Maybe_ she's a _Lunarian!_ Why aren't there any left, then?"

"Perhaps. Ever notice how she and that old man are _constantly_ dressed in nothing but red? Maybe there's something that the headmaster ain't tellin' us..."

"But what about the _other_ Red Mages that attend this school? Are they _just as_ evil?"

"Probably. _Probably_..."

Tellah couldn't deny the students' accusations, despite that they were loudly proclaimed outside his office door. Reinhardt had stormed into the Red Mage's office shortly after the lunch period had ended, bellowing in such a decibel that the restless spirits on Mount. Ordeals could have turned back into their torrid graves. Oddly enough, the Mysidian Governor _hadn't_ been with him, which surprised the mage. Had he told the faculty of his plans for trade relations, and fled without warning, or was he finally letting the other professors have their sweet revenge, and berate him for an ill-mannered daughter?

He felt as though he deserved it, either way.

So much for _his_ lunch...

_And class. It seems no one will show._

The old mage had been pacing the interior of his classroom for about thirty minutes now, half expecting the Elder to barge in at some point. For a class that held only six students at the advanced level, it _could have_ been probable that the four adolescents and two adults (not counting himself) had taken ill an hour before the academy was scheduled to end activity for the day.

Deep in his heart, however, Tellah knew that possibility was about as proportionate as he winning an all-expense-paid trip to Agart, where he couldn't worry about such things for a while.

And _that_ was certainly limited.

He looked at the blackboard, which had various notes of the day's lesson scrawled onto it. It was unbelievable to him that just a few hours ago, he had cast aside the Elder's therapy and his late wife's painting to carry on his duty in raising his daughter. Of course, his work had gone on as planned, but with a new vigor of sorts. The only reason why he had the job in the first place was because of Anna, after all; who was he to abuse it?

_But who am I to abuse Anna?_ He thought, brushing a hand over his graying beard in thought. _It's because of me that she's this way, instead of a gentle little girl. Reinhardt's singed hair sure as hell proved it..._

He had to fight to keep a smile from forming on his face. No matter how ridiculous the Black Mage professor had looked, he couldn't let the seriousness of the matters get out of hand.

_No. Never again... _

Another twenty minutes passed, followed by ten, and the clamoring of the huge brass bell that signified the end of the day. With a resolute sigh, Tellah swept his gaze over the desolate classroom one last time, then turned to his desk, and began to shovel books back into his worn carpetbag.

But not without a small smile.

_It's all going to be different; we'll work on it tonight_, he continued thinking, as he locked the door to his classroom, then turned to walk down the hall. A few younger Black Mage students loitering the halls caught sight of him, and turned the opposite direction to flee. He regarded them with a toss of his head, and the hint of a frown. The Black Mages in Reinhardt's class had obviously done a good job with spreading rumors, no doubt.

_They'll see improvements, and hopefully not banish us to the moon..._

It wasn't long before Tellah exited the academy compounds, and reached the gate that led the ways in and out. He regarded the rest of Mysidia with a small nod; others nodded back in respect to the great mage, while others, fearful of the academy rumors, cowered, made faces of disgust, and led their children away.

"Just you wait, and see," the Red Mage muttered to one particularly nasty gesture. "Then again, if nobody breaks off your finger by force, I'll --"

"_HEEEEEYY!_"

Tellah's attention snapped, and his gaze shifted to that of the red-robed child hurriedly running towards him, her book bag bouncing wearily against the ground. Her other hand held fast to the extravagant hat that had previously housed her hair; now, she looked like a blaze of fire.

"Daddy, I swear it wasn't my fault! It was that old, stupid ass -- Wha... HEY!"

Tellah hadn't said anything; merely, he reached down, grabbed the girl, and pulled her into a hug.

Anna's eyes widened. "Is... Is anything the matter?" she whispered, as Tellah pressed her head against his shoulder. It was on rare occasion that her father showed such affection, the only few times she remembered being her first ice, fire, and lightning spells at various stages in her life.

Never did she imagine it'd be the same when she had nearly _killed_ someone...

In his eyes, Anna was infantile again, and nearly believed such when he set her down on the ground. The way her crystal-blue eyes bore into him, a mixture of curiosity and fear painted on her face, tried to prove otherwise.

"I don't shower you with enough affection as a father should," Tellah explained, ignoring the approving smiles of his supporters, and the idiotic stares of the oppressors. "From now on, that's going to change. In the meantime, let's go home." He took her hand, the rest of her stunned, and began to walk out towards the village, and to the outskirts.

"She doesn't need a hug, you old fool!" The one with a previous gesture shouted after them. "She needs a right spanking!"

For that, and other reasons applicable, Tellah fought with his own stubbornness to not lift his, and break their finger.

• • •

"Anna, why did you do cast fire on Professor Reinhardt?"

The question came about as easy as the carrots and onions that made their way into the stock cauldron for the zuu and vegetable soup. Tellah wasn't eager to broach the subject - Anna, sure as the spirits, likely wasn't ready to consider it - but he knew it had to come into light sometime.

The younger Red Mage was still viewing the carrots with disgust, though she eventually split her attention between chopping up the parsley, and answering her father's question: "He was pissing me off."

Tellah didn't know whether to sigh at the short answer, or sigh at her choice of language; in any case, he did so, but not without a look of contempt at his daughter next to him. She was standing on a chair in order to reach the counter, diligently chopping up the vegetables, while he took care of the various bird parts. He knew that most parents wouldn't allow a child as young as Anna to even think of holding a knife, much less using it for an act of supper, but he knew her better than that.

"You do know that's wrong, right? Setting someone on fire, I mean," he corrected, as she glanced up. "Horace Reinhardt might not be the nicest person on the face of Gaia, but that doesn't give you permission to set him on fire. Nor does it give you permission to cuss like a Baronian soldier," he added, drawing pursed lips from the girl.

Anna shook her head as she shoved the chopped mixture to one side before grabbing another vegetable. "Even _IF_ he wouldn't give something back that's really important?"

"Even if," her father assured her, moving to dump the contents of fowl into the bubbling pot. "I'm sure whatever you had wasn't that important anyhow."

The girl nearly allowed her knife to drop to the cutting board, disbelieving, but grabbed it so it didn't make a sound. The tip poked into a finger, and she would have howled out in its sudden pain had Tellah not of leaned against the hearth, his back still turned, and shoulders slumped.

_Maybe I deserve this_, she thought, wrapping the affected digit into a fold of her robe. It stung slightly, but at least the material would soak up any unnecessary blood. _What if I made him really sad, like he's gonna cry again...? I can't cry, and he shouldn't either! He'll definitely cry if I tell him I lost..._

All-too often had Anna been witness to her father's cries, all which were blamed on either the abundance of onions that went into their meals, or the meals itself without the acid vegetable. In whispered talks, eavesdropped, and the way his eyes usually drifted to portraits of a near mirror image of herself as an older woman, she knew it was a lie.

"Did you cut yourself with the knife, Anna?"

_Just like how I'm gonna lie right now_, she thought, quickly shuffling her contortions into a bright smile, as the mage started towards her. "No, Daddy. I'm fine."

_Fine, in so many ways we wish existed..._

• • • 

When the last vegetable had been accounted for, and the murky broth stirred, father and daughter eagerly sat back to watch and wait. It had become something of a past time for Anna, watching the vermilion flames of a simple fire spell crackle against the dry wood, leaping up to caress the metal cauldron every now and then. Often Tellah would gaze at her expectant grin, though he'd find himself looking above the hearth, where the various portraits were hung upon the wall.

There were too many of the smaller ones, he decided. One was of his parents, while a couple was of Sakura, often paired up with him. The rest consisted of Anna from her birth, to those first walking steps, and, most importantly, to her first magic-casting stance. There was no doubt in Tellah's mind that she was suited for the role of a Red Mage: her first procurement had been the gold, tell-tale aura of a healing spell, after all. He'd have to make sure to emphasize on that, as she was further excelling in the dark arts.

_Or, do I?_ He thought, glancing back down to her entranced face. _Prejudiced, yes, but I do not want a Black Mage for a daughter, nor a White Mage. I wouldn't care if she were to marry either one, though I want her combination to succeed my own legacy._

_But what would she want...?_

The last portrait, seated in the middle, had once belonged to his deceased wife, but now stood stately with a brightly colored, ethereal diamond painting: the Water Crystal of Mysidia.

Water was the flow of hope and life, said to of been a pure blessing of the Earth Matron herself. Though he would have previously taken such a statement as blasphemy, Tellah was beginning to long for a new apparition that he would have taken the holy object itself.

Besides, the cottage, small to the eye, but dark and lonely to the heart, on the outskirts of town, could use some hope and life, anyway.

• • • 

"Will you read me a bedtime story...? You know, like you used to, a long time ago?"

This caught the old mage by surprise. He had only traveled into the girl's bedroom to bid her goodnight, and extinguish the lamps near her door. The warmth of the soup, leftovers long since put away with the interaction of schoolwork, and a battle on lecture, was still in him, threatening to make him keel over in slumber any moment.

Anna's eyes were wide, and insistent. "Please?"

_I did make a promise to be the best father to her_, he told himself, advancing back into the room, and over to a bookshelf. Toys and dolls were scattered in various places on the floor, causing him to curse underneath his breath every now and then.

"See! You cuss _too_!"

"Is '_The Imp Princess_' a suitable story for you?" Tellah asked, ignoring her proclamation and knowing grins, as he sat down on the edge of her bed. "I haven't read that to you since you were three."

"Or you could read this," Anna replied, digging underneath her pillow to present him with a rectangular parcel. "I'm pretty sure it's a book, too. It's from Uncle Leto," she added, to his surprised face. "He would've given it to you himself, but he had to go to Baron."

"So that's why I didn't see him around," he muttered, placing the item in his lap, much to his daughter's chagrin. "I would lecture you as to why you didn't give this to me earlier, but I'm much too tired," he replied to her disappointment. "Let's begin the book, shall we?"

"Do you think I'll ever become a princess, Daddy?" Anna asked instead, though she adjusted herself into the covers of her blanket. She had a doll dressed in the robes of a Red Mage lying comfortably next to her, which she gripped and snuggled for good measure.

Tellah thought briefly of Sakura's origins, but dismissed it with a second thought. "You'll get to meet a prince in about a week," he replied, smiling slightly at his daughter's widening eyes. "If you can quit cussing, and maybe clean your room, maybe he'll make you into an honorary princess."

_Yes, dear. You'll be an honorary princess of the sandcastles, and a guardian of the minstrels, with sand in their pantaloons. I suppose that is something to look forward to..._

"A _real_ prince? Do you mean it?" the girl gasped, gushing, struggling to sit up. Her father, gently pushing her back onto the pillow, failed that attempt.

"Yes, I mean it. We'll have new robes made in his honor, and everything," Tellah replied. "Child's morning, we leave for Baron. You can have the day off from classes, at best."

Anna looked as though Christmas had come months in advance. "You promise?"

"Yes, I promise." He nodded, and began to open the storybook. "Now, let's start."

"Can I have my robes done like a _real_ princess, Daddy?"

"Don't press your luck."

• • • 

In no time flat, Anna had turned over onto one side, and had entered the realms of slumber. The doll still remained clutched in her arms, and it seemed unlikely that she'd let it go anytime soon.

Tellah had stopped mid-sentence when he heard the gentle, rhythmic breathing, and quietly shut the book. Dodging the litter of amusement, he made his way back to the bookshelf, then through the trench again to return to Anna's bedside.

"No matter what, you'll always be my little princess," the old mage whispered, brushing a tress of her light colored strands out of her small face. _Peaceful, yes, but still marred like my own._ "Good night."

He fixed her covers, and was about to begin the battle with the mess again, when he noticed _it_: that parcel Anna had given to him earlier. It seemed to of settled in its own space on the floor as though the toys had decided to make an attempt to go back to the toy-box, and give it room.

_It does seem suspicious, though_, he thought, picking up the package, and quietly making his way from the room after extinguishing the torches on her wall. _But why would Leto seek her out, and not me?_

"Because he was busy, of course," Tellah replied aloud, long after shutting Anna's door, and making his way to his own room. He tossed the package on the nightstand, and prepared himself for bed.

"Still though; it's odd," he mused sleepily as he slipped into the sheets. The drowsiness beforehand eagerly called to him, luring him into his own version of dreamland. "Why would he package a book, for crystal's sake?"

But even as he finally fell asleep into a vision of hope, the life behind still prodded at his conscious.


	5. Chapter IV: Yin's Light

_A/N: Oi, that which is writer's block. I've seemed to of chiseled it out, though, so hurrah. Maybe this story will see its end within a couple more months, if lucky enough…_

_Thanks much to all who read and review! It helps immensely._

* * *

**Chapter IV**: _Yin's Light_

_He was standing on the cliff's edge, his eyes locked on the thousands of stars that glittered solemnly in the darkened bowl of the world. The harkening currents below crashed against the walls in perfect rhythm, and even the wind made its voice heard from a mere whisper, to a full crescendo. Though the threat of falling loomed in the distance, it seemed as though the scattered diamonds above would be his shield against the world. _

Nothing could take him away; they seemed to have promised him. The crystals had saw it fit to take her away, and throw him in this disgusting game, but at least the stars - the very eyes of Gaia herself - had some promise left, twinkling in knowing fashion.

The emanating white light seemed to envelop him in their embrace. He had no desire to turn around when the giveaway of someone approaching from behind came.

"Master. It is time."

"Go away," he muttered. The intensity of the heavens was beginning to fade, abandoning him. 'No, my dear; please don't leave me alone!' "Don't you see I'm busy?"

The approach shuffled closer. "If we don't unlock those doors now, who knows what will happen? Even she might be killed," he added, malice smitten in his tone.

A flash of red erupted, tranquility faded to be colored in rage. She was his key element, and they had known it. "You leave her alone," he growled, turning sharply.

The opposing figure had taken the shape of a heavily cloaked-and-robed being. Though he couldn't see past the hood, he knew its shadow-sunken face was smiling, gloating at him. "You have six more days, Master. Try not to disappoint me."

He advanced, power gathering in his fist, the words of a spell forming in his mind. "I want your word that you'll leave her alone! No one threatens MY -"

Before he had a chance to do anything, however, the cloaked being seemed to of faded in the wind, leaving behind its final words on the bane:

'Six more days, and we'll spare it all…'

He stood still, rage spreading through his body at a steady course. The secondary power that had gathered gnawed at him, begging to be released before the two forms of adrenalin had the unfortunate perchance of meeting.

So it will be, he told himself. I'll find it, but not before they get past her.

With fluid grace, he turned back towards the cliff. Invisible wings had spread out to give him faith, and the next thing he knew, he had leapt off the edge without any reservation, and into the inviting waves below.

"Lightning THREE!" he shouted, timing his advance to the ocean. Dark eyes glowered at the deceptive heavens before he was overtaken, and he prayed he wouldn't be among their ranks.

• • •

It didn't surprise Tellah that he had awaked drenched in sweat; the stale, warm air of his bedroom in the morning vespers usually saw fit that he'd wake up in such a fashion. His long hair was matted in a frivolous state, and the bedcovers clung against his body as though they were a second skin.

His heart fluttered, coursed with sudden trepidation, as he slowly sat up, wincing at a sharp pain in his right arm. All he could remember was the rage he had felt in a dream, though the illusions as to why weren't exactly clear.

_Or perhaps I felt it in my sleep_, the Red Mage thought, gripping the afflicted limb around the elbow, and massaging it. _I should remember that I'm steadily aging, rather than the opposite._

Leaning over so his body might apply distant pressure, he slowly released his arm, and reached out for the nightstand. Fingers fumbled for his spectacles, and were eagerly met with the eyewear. In no time, the blurred dapper gray room had transfigured into a distinguishable sight.

"I do wish that wasn't there, however," Tellah muttered, grimly, as he turned his head towards the window. Clouds were fixated this morning, causing an overcast light to stream in through to replace the usually bright that signified morning time.

A gray day somberly stared back at him, rain imminent within the reach of Gaia -- not a very pleasant omen at all.

He ran his hands through his fire-and-smoke hair - despite the lingering pain in his arm - and stifled a yawn as a knock sharply resounded on his bedroom door. "Come in."

Anna poked her head in. "Are you awake yet? They're supposed to be serving toast and imp-eye jam for breakfast this morning."

"Good morning to you as well," Tellah replied, swinging his legs over the bed and onto the slated floor. As much as he wanted to be irritated with her informality, he couldn't help but chuckle at the disheveled strands of strawberry that gathered around her face, which held an absolute look of disgust. "Why are you so adamant against imp-eye jam?"

"Other than the fact it's the grossest thing to consume, I'm not sure," the little mage admitted, taking a step into the bedchamber, and over to his bed. She was still clad in her usual red nightgown, which certainly explained the state of her hair, _and_ stomach, when he thought about it.

"Then you should have nothing to fear," her father said with a nod, standing, and eyeing his daughter, who had climbed up on the bed, and fell back against it with a mischievous giggle, and resounding _thud_. "In fact, I highly doubt that the cafeteria would be serving imp-eye jam; you probably read it wrong."

Anna sat up, half-amused that she had gotten away with such a feat. "I _know_ I didn't read that wrong, Daddy. It said so yesterday, and it'll say the same thing again today! I promise!"

Tellah sighed. "I thought you were practicing alchemy now. Imp-eye is the main tincture in a Cure potion, and it's unlikely that they'd use it for food, too. You _should_ know that."

"I got kicked out of alchemy class, remember? Everyone there that practices it is taller than me, anyway." The girl's eyes shifted away - her father shaking his head in remembrance - and to the nightstand.

"You still haven't opened that book yet?"

Tellah blinked at the question, and followed his daughter's gaze. A frown crossed his lips; he had forgotten about the thing, and now that he thought about it, the desire to forget was more than overwhelming, yet he knew that he had to open it, sooner or later. He sat next to Anna, and reached over to grab it so that they might open it together.

_You have six more days. Try not to disappoint me!_

Something like electricity shuddered through his right arm, and he pulled back as though the parcel had bitten him.

_Even she might be killed… _

Tellah gripped his arm, and forced a smile on his face as he looked back at Anna, who stared back at him with a peculiar expression. "What would you like for breakfast, then? Your usual fried lamia bread, eggs, and mushrooms, like we have on the weekends?"

She hesitated for a second, confused by her father's actions, then nodded, leaping off the bed (Tellah thought it a wonder she didn't land sharply, and skin her knees). "I'll help!"

"Get dressed, and brush your hair - neatly this time, mind you," the old mage added, raising his eyes to the ceiling as she looked at him with disgust at the particular chore. "Then you can get some butter, and a few eggs, provided you don't break them."

Anna turned, but she whipped around suddenly, her face full of vigor. "Its only two more days before we go to Baron, isn't it? He's coming next week, right?"

_He…?_ He'd almost forgotten about that, too. "Yes, he is. You should start acting like a princess in the meantime: no cursing, no setting people on fire, and definitely a clean room, which you should clean when we come home this evening," he added. "I nearly broke my neck tripping over your toys last night."

For the most part, this seemed to pass through Anna as though her father were conversing with a brick wall. "Wait until I tell someone! They're gonna be jealous!" She said with a grin before backing out of her father's room, and towards her own. "I'm going to be a _princess_ with a _prince!_"

"I think _princesses_ are supposed to be modest!" Tellah called after her, though he rolled his eyes shortly afterward. "But I think a princess of a kingdom of sand can spare to boast that much," he added, quietly.

He stood back up and scratched absently at his hair, crossing to the door of his room and shutting it within one fluid motion. The cold draft from the floor that greeted his legs was another reminder that perhaps he should look into buying a new pant and shirt pajama set when they were to visit Baron, as his were quite short for his tall frame.

_We should still have plenty of time_, he mused, peering out his bedroom window. Within the gray of the looming rain, a small puddle of light had transfixed within the trees and appeared. _Tide hasn't approached yet_…

_But what of the parcel Leto has sent?_ His gaze was instantly wrenched from the window, and forced to the parcel on the nightstand as though by lure. _She's gone now, so it should be okay, right? Just a little tear of the paper…_

His lips pressed, but decided against it. The morning held much better things anyhow, like getting dressed, eating breakfast, and excelling in his usual task that he held just for Anna.

But if that was the case, then why did he feel regret every time he stared back at the parcel, as though it actually _meant_ something?

• • •

"Today's going to be a good day, Anna."

The girl looked up at her father as they slowly trudged back towards Mysidia, breakfast tucked away with their usual morning chatter. The prior moment, she had been arguing with him about the dropped alchemy class, and how making potions was something she didn't need to know; she could simply buy what she needed at the General Shop.

Tellah grabbed her hand, and squeezed it, something else that surprised both equally. This hadn't been done since she was very young. "Days are only what you make of them, Anna. If we believe that today will be a good day, then we have nothing to worry about.

"Of course, what I mean about good days in particular might be different from your views," the mage continued, glancing down at his daughter. He smiled at the confused look her little face wore. "I mean that you should try to act like a model student, and not go setting people on fire. Just because you're the youngest magic user in the Academy doesn't mean you should flaunt your ability, but, rather, be modest."

Vibrant blue looked down at her robes: the day found her dressed in knee-length scarlet, with long sleeves, and a gold sash around her waist; black leggings and ankle-length brown boots completed the look, as did her usual feathered cap. All of the outfits she wore while in attendance at the Academy, suited and tailored entirely for a red mage of her level, had been picked with loving care, and her father's prideful sneer -- to hear him talk differently confused her slightly.

"I know that's not what I said before, and I regret it," Tellah said, as though he had heard her thoughts. "I was a fool for thinking such, but now that the time draws closer, we need to be more modest, Anna. We both need to be."

"Because that prince is coming next week, right?" She asked, curiously. A bright smile replaced her doubts. "He probably doesn't know how to cast magic, and would be scared, right?"

Tellah resisted the urge to shake his head. Most of the time, he felt he could carry on topics with her that someone beyond her years could, would, completely understand, though when he thought about it further, Anna was just five years old, even if her magic level disagreed otherwise.

"Yes, darling, I suppose that's it."

"We should be strong for him, and in training, we'll practice on other people," Anna continued, grinning. "You won't know who I am at all!"

_Even if you miss the point entirely, I suppose there's nothing wrong with doing that._ Her father smiled. "Just don't lose sight of who you really are."

The little mage nodded - Tellah unsure why - and gripped her father's hand tightly. She them moved to lean her head against his forearm, but pulled back sharply, with a gasp. "Did you cut yourself with the knife chopping up mushrooms, Daddy? You're _bleeding!_"

A piercing pain thundered through his arm as Tellah quickly dropped Anna's hand from his grip, and pushed back the sleeve. The afflicted elbow was tinted purple and swollen to the gaze. A thin line of blood had seeped out through a darker patch of charred black, and clotted there, yet still damp.

_A splash of ocean remained calm, before a solitary bolt of lightning filled the sky, and struck a diminishing figure, loft on the wings of death. If he counted them, there were six feathers in the devil's face, each gold and black: _

Each praying for one more day…

The mage's gaze shifted to the book bag on his left side. "I'll just have to wash it when we get to the Academy. You should wash your hands, too," he added.

"But _why_ are you bleeding, Daddy?" Anna reiterated, ignoring his advice. "Did you cut yourself? Why didn't you put a bandage on it?"

"I didn't even know I was bleeding until you recognized it." He quickly tugged the sleeve down. "I must've fallen out of my bed last night."

_Six more days, and we'll spare it all…_

"But, why…"

Tellah looked back at her, then the sights around them. Without realizing it, they had finally arrived at Mysidia's entryway, and were about to go through. Two other mages stood there in their chore of guarding Mysidia from monster and hostile attacks, and regarded the father and daughter strangely.

The mage couldn't help but look back at them as he and Anna crossed through the gates. He could still sense their lingering eyes, even though they had long turned back to their posts.

_They still think different. Hell, all of Mysidia still thinks different. I know a talk alone without the presence of those involved isn't going to change perceptions overnight, but you'd think…_ His arm ached then, as though to remind him, and he looked down at his book bag once more. A certain object within its pockets called out to him, urged him to forget the blood and the well-being, and open it as soon as possible.

Maybe today _wouldn't_ be such a good day after all.

• • •

There were more than two pairs of eyes watching the master Red Mage and his progeny walking through the entryway to Mysidia. Such lifted its gaze eagerly from its place within a building's shadow, and watched with heavy interest. Dark eyes scrutinized the way the two moved, and allowed a toothy smile to come to his shagged face when the elder lifted his afflicted arm in worry.

_So it has happened_, he thought, further smiling in glee as they stopped at the Academy's steps, the girl worriedly hugging her father before they split upon separate paths that led into the establishment. _I guess he didn't fail on his promise after all._

_But I wonder, what else will come for them in the time ahead? Certainly they cannot be as bad…_

He winced inwardly, appalled at his own thoughts. If his matron were there, she'd beat him within an inch of his life.

_No, they are bad_, he reminded himself, standing as the two vanished from his sight, likely deep within the school already. _Both are equally guilty of sin, even if we do not have the rights to prove that._

He stood, then, and moved out, anxious for the day to be over so that he might return to the sea, and weep for the next boat away from here.


End file.
